


this is [redacted]

by numerals



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crack, M/M, Pining, [redacted]post
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-08 04:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20306104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numerals/pseuds/numerals
Summary: this is a shitpost please dont take it seriouslyGing and Pariston are in physics, but they have chemistry.





	this is [redacted]

**Author's Note:**

> end my suffering

Ging hated a lot of things, but children was probably a top three for him, followed by Pariston Hill and physics. Yet, all three were currently part of his life. The first? His name was Nog, his nephew. That little brat, with his stupid green shirt and matching short-shorts -- who dressed this kid, anyways? -- was thrown onto him on the pretense of “helping him gain maturity”, but it was more likely that Mito was simply too busy for him these days. He sighed, thinking about her rising career as one of the top cooks in her field (very famous for eggs), while he had to slave over archeology books in college. He wasn’t a studier, that’s for sure -- He liked  _ doing  _ things, not reading about musty objects in musty books. Mito complained that he had a one-track mind, that he didn’t have enough room in his head to think about anything else than artifacts, but Ging never understood  _ why  _ that was a detriment. He loved what he did with all his heart -- he couldn’t see how there could be anything bad about that! Especially when his classmates bemoaned their own majors, all afflicted with the weight of caring about wealth rather than their own happiness. 

But Nog? Nog, he was ruining Ging’s life with his constant nagging (nogging?) at Ging to go fishing with him. The stupid boy brought his pole around everywhere, and thought it was a fun idea to hit Ging with the hook constantly. Like right now. 

In the car, Nog screamed and hit him with the hook. It grabbed his sweater and he felt his whole  _ body  _ rise up. What the heck was Mito feeding this kid? He was far too strong for his age.

“Ging-san!” Nog screamed. 

“I don’t know who you are,” Ging said, then parked his car and rushed out the door, ignoring Nog’s constant cries of “Ging-san, Ging-san!” People looked at them strangely.

“I’m not a kidnapper,” he told them, then broke out in a sprint. They didn’t look any less concerned, but he didn’t have the strength to explain it further to them, so he just glared and barked at them, like the neighbor’s dog. They backed away then, he noted, proud. 

Right! His physics class! Ging didn’t understand why he had to take physics. All he wanted to do was become an archeologist, and there really was no overlap between fossils and projectile motion. And even worse, he was sitting next to  _ Pariston. _

Pariston was a well-known name on campus simply because he was an [redacted]. He had a surprisingly large fangroup that Ging was very startled by, especially due to their near religious devotion to Pariston. Ging wondered what the fuss was all about: What about Pariston was so appealing, anyways? He was very… sparkly, Ging supposed. But that didn’t really do any favors for him. 

Speaking of people who are currently doing no favors for him, Nog suddenly appeared by his side. 

“Ging-san!” Nog screamed happily, his fishing pole still thrown over one shoulder. The hook knocked the books out of one teacher’s hands, skidding across the tiled floors of the hallway. 

“Hey, can’t you help me here?” The teacher snapped. Ging grabbed Nog in his arms, then ran faster away. 

“How did you even get out of the car?” He asked Nog, who smiled at him dopily. What an idiot. 

“I picked the lock!” He said happily. “And then some weird stranger offered me candy, and I might’ve killed him?” He didn’t look too happy anymore. 

“That’s -- That’s just not right,” Ging said, but really didn’t want to waste his time thinking about Nog anymore, especially when he was just about to further his archeologist career. Well, near-career, but Ging was getting there.  _ Just one more semester of physics,  _ he chided to himself.  _ Just one.  _ He entered the physics room.

“Why are you carrying a child?” His professor asked. 

“No, this is not a child,” Ging said. “This is a strangely-shaped dog.”

“Child or dog, it doesn’t matter,” his professor said, “We can’t allow any living beings besides adult humans in this class.”

“Uh, then this dog is dead,” Ging said, tapping Nog on the shoulder. “Play dead, you idiot,” Ging snapped under his breath. 

“Yes sir!” Nog said happily, and proceeded to not breathe. 

“See, dead.” Ging proclaimed, then walked away as if the conversation was over. The professor, used to Ging’s antics, just sighed wearily and went to the chalkboard.

“Yo, he’s turning blue,” one of his classmates said. Ging ignored him. 

“Yeah,” a voice called out. Ging froze.  _ No!,  _ he thought to himself,  _ All my plans have been ruined.  _

[switch to Hunter x Hunter narrator voice]

Ging did indeed have many plans. Specifically, plans that involved him and Pariston in a white dress and a priest and a ring and… I assume you get the point. However, that was the  _ end goal.  _ The step-by-step process looked more like this:

  1. Have a conversation with him the first semester.
  2. Stop talking to him in the second semester. Boys love it when girls are hard to get. And Ging, who was neither a girl nor hard to get, decided to just fulfill one of these requirements.
  3. But, ask him out on the _last day. _Pariston must’ve warmed up to his physical presence by then, and would say yes immediately.
  4. Reap the benefits.

[end Hunter x Hunter narrator voice]

_ I’m still on step two,  _ Ging thought sadly. So he resolutely turned around. 

But that didn’t stop Pariston. “He’s still not breathing? You should tell your… dead dog to revive.”

“Hm,” he said, looking at Nog. Nog was beginning to turn purple at this point. Ging debated the advantages vs. disadvantages of telling Nog to breathe again:

  * Advantage: Mito wouldn’t kill him. Also, murdering a child would most definitely get on his track record, and then he couldn’t become an archeologist while in prison. 
  * Disadvantage: He didn’t get to see what other interesting colors Nog could turn. Would he reach an orange state, perhaps? Ging was rather partial to orange… or maybe even green, so he could match his clothes and become a full-fledged snake? _The advantages _**_slightly_**_ outweigh the disadvantages, _he thought to himself.

“Breathe,” he instructed Nog, and then the boy was hiccuping and coughing.

“Too bad we didn’t get to see snake Nog,” Pariston muttered. 

_ snaKE NOG SNAKE NOG SNAKE NOG,  _ Ging thought.  _ Wait, where did that come from? _

No matter. He shook himself out of his reverie. Finally, the shock began to kick in. His three brain cells began to divert:

  1. The first one thought about how _Pariston and him had the same thought! _Ging had always known that him and Pariston were meant to be, but this just solidified that fact.
  2. The second one was about how Nog’s color was finally returning to his cheeks. _So long, Snake Nog, _Ging thought, sadly. _You will be missed._
  3. The third one, and arguably the loudest out of all the brain cells, was just preoccupied with how _sparkly _Pariston looked. Unfortunately, this brain cell was not particularly good with words.

“NNNNNGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhh,” Ging said. 

“Mood,” Pariston replied. Suddenly, they were staring at each other. It wasn’t a long stare by any means, it all occured in the time it took their professor to say “centripetal force”, but to Ging, it felt  _ infinite.  _

_ No, no,  _ Ging thought to himself.  _ He had to follow the plan!  _ But the plan was most definitely in shambles, especially after his third brain cell took the reins. His third brain cell apologized profusely, and then offered a solution:  _ There’s another way to play hard to get,  _ his third brain cell said, all importantly,  _ Just be rude to him! This way, you’re pushing him away! _

Pariston didn’t notice the transaction taking place between Ging and his third brain cell during their stare.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Ging snapped.  _ Yes,  _ his brain cells chorused,  _ Very mean!  _ Pariston just smiled with all his teeth, eyelids heavy, and kept watching. The desk he was in suddenly felt very small. He didn’t know what was wrong with his classmate: Pariston with the stale grace and overwhelming confidence. The way he  _ draped  _ himself over everyone, and backed away whenever it became anything more. He never draped himself over Ging, though --  _ Damnit,  _ Ging thought to himself, viciously. 

“I was wondering, [redacted] -- “

“Don’t call me  _ [redacted] _ .”

“But it’s cute!” Ging rolled his eyes. Pariston pouted. “Okay, okay, fine. I was wondering, Ging _ … _ ” And in one smooth motion, Pariston swung himself on top Ging’s desk, his legs dangling in front of Ging’s face, and pressed the palm of his hand on Ging’s cheek, leaning in. “Why do you never talk to me?” He breathed it out, like a sermon. His face was so close; Ging was so dizzy -- he could feel Pariston’s eyelashes on his cheekbones. “It’s almost like you hate me or something.” And suddenly he was leaning back on his hands, whining: “But I’m so good at everything! Even Nog loves me (Nog didn’t), and I’ve only saved him from imminent death once! Stop rolling your eyes, I’m serious -- “ And there it is again, Pariston’s face millimeters away from his own.  _ His eyes are so dark,  _ Ging thought, lightheaded. “So do you hate me?” 

“So you’re not completely oblivious after all,” Ging said, roughly. The light in Pariston’s eyes shuttered, and Ging felt bad, just for a second.  _ But he had to stick to the (new) plan! _

Before Ging could get out another word, the professor interrupted them. 

“For this physics project -- remember, it’s 99% of your final grade! -- I will assign you all to topics to cover in pairs.” Everyone got up to move, but the professor waved them down. “I will be assigning the pairs.” Everyone gasped. “They will be chosen randomly from this hat.” The professor shook the hat, showing everyone the little slips of paper inside. 

Ging shivered a little, nervous. He had no friends.

The professor drew two slips. “Pariston and Ging!” He called out.

Pariston and Ging looked at each other in shock. So did Nog, because he didn’t want to be left out of this abrupt staring contest.

Pariston blinked slowly, (“You lost!” crowed Nog gleefully in the background), then smiled at Ging, snake-like. 

“Ging,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s an honor to be working with you.”

You would think that an extending of a hand isn’t too big of a deal, right? Wrong. There are so many interpretations of that and they’re all running through Ging’s mind. He  _ cannot  _ afford to screw up this, especially considering what’s on the line -- the chance to touch Pariston. 

The possible interpretations of an outstretched hand, with reasoning provided by each brain cell:

  * A handshake: The third brain cell shot it down immediately -- “Something as ordinary as that doesn’t fit Pariston.”
  * A hug: “I don’t think that’s right,” the third brain cell said. The first brain cell looked a bit petulant -- “....But I want to feel his firm chest against mine and his strong arms holding me tight as he gently moans --” “I want to die,” his third brain cell interrupted.
  * Asking for beer: His first brain cell is very adamant about this -- “Pariston’s wearing a polo shirt with a popped collar,” it said, “That’s very frat boy. Thus, alcohol.”
  * Asking for the blunt: “Wazza,” his second brain cell says, “Lez git litty.” (You might be wondering, how do these brain cells a) procure these drugs, given their absence of drug dealers, and b) smoke them, given their absence of hands? Stop wondering. Really. It’s for the best.)
  * Asking to pass the salt: “Halt these illicit activities!” His third brain cell demanded. “Who do you think Pariston is? He’s a conniving bastard with a penchant for near-constant stimulation in any form… wait.” His third brain cell shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t allow these thoughts in _this _Christian skull.”
  * Asking for a wrench:

So Ging passed Pariston a wrench. He didn’t know where the wrench appeared from, but suddenly Ging was holding a grease-splattered, rusted wrench, and then suddenly Pariston was holding a grease-splattered, rusted wrench.

_ Something about how Pariston fixes his hair with the wrench. _

“Let’s meet tomorrow at the library at 3,” Pariston said. Ging, certified disaster gay, was doomed.


End file.
